


une nuance plus adoucie

by orphan_account



Series: était amoureux [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre has need of advice. Enjolras attempts to give it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	une nuance plus adoucie

“Enjolras,” said Combeferre, a grave tone in his voice. “I have an issue of some concern that I wish to discuss with you.”

Enjolras looked up from his work, eyebrow raised. “If this is about funding for publications again, you know perfectly well that we are stretched as it is – the Musain is not cheap, and for all that they claim to be republicans we are charged far more than the _philatelists_.” He spoke the word with a scorn usually reserved for only the monarchy and his harshest professors.

Combeferre paused, choosing his words carefully. “Prouvaire and I have – argued. I am not certain it will remain a private issue, so I thought I should warn you before it disrupts a meeting.”

“Prouvaire?” said Enjolras, disbelieving. “I know he has something of a snake’s temper, but he is amiable enough with us. What was the subject of the argument?”

Now Combeferre was visibly uncomfortable. It was, to Enjolras, an unfamiliar expression, being used to Combeferre’s generally more neutral outlook. “We have been engaged in an – affair, of sorts, although I suppose that is not quite the right term.” He hesitated, also unusual. “Please understand, Enjolras, this is a matter of some sensitivity. I hope our usual confidence will be maintained, no matter what- what you think of this. As you know, Jehan is a Romantic, and in the Byronic sense, has many vices. I suppose it would follow to say that I am one of those vices.”

Enjolras’ face remained impassive. “I am glad you have spoken of this to me. And that you felt comfortable confiding such sensitive information, but you must understand, my friend, that I am no expert in matters of love beyond Philia. I fear Eros, or whichever it is to which you have succumbed, is somewhat beyond my purview.” He paused. “I would not, however, be so cruel as to leave you without a confidant in such matters. You are welcome, if you are comfortable doing so, to discuss the specifics of your predicament.”

“I am afraid that in the course of this- this dalliance, I had become somewhat more enamoured of Prouvaire than I had anticipated. The sentiment, on its expression, was not favourably received.” He winced, the remembrance of a vase shattering on cobblestones where it had slipped from Jehan’s fingers still fresh in his mind.

“Have you talked to him?” Enjolras seemed slightly more intent, now. “I have found, in my admittedly limited experience of conflict of this sort, that the lack of communication condemns whatever chance of reconciliation one might have had.” He was almost wistful, thought Combeferre, who was suddenly reminded of a moment, three years before, when Grantaire had taken leave of meetings for months, and returned irrevocably altered.

Understanding entered his organised mind, and reframed a number of interactions.

“No, I have not been able to find him. I am afraid,” here he collected himself slightly, an inconvenient lump in his throat preventing proper speech. “I am afraid he may have disappeared into one of his old haunts, an opium den for which I have never discovered an address.”

He glanced to the window, and started. Jehan was outside, leaning against the opposite wall, a rue flower threaded through his lapel. Combeferre smiled, the book of flowers Jehan had given him finally coming into good use.

Enjolras followed his gaze, and Combeferre was surprised to see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Go and greet him then, Combeferre, before he curses you for a blackguard. I would not have you discontent – it would be somewhat contrary to our stated aims.”

Combeferre did not hesitate in following his suggestion, almost leaping from the front step and rushing across the street, barely avoiding a somewhat irate cabdriver and his horse. Jehan looked up, his long hair for once pulled back in a sober ponytail. Combeferre longed to brush it out and plait it right there on the street, the soberness completely at odds with Jehan’s nature.

“Good day, Jehan. May I ask what brings you here with regret in your lapel?”

Jehan smiled, his usual brightness somehow subdued. “An apology I am obliged to make to someone I have wronged. A medical student, with wire spectacles and excellent legs. Perhaps you have seen him?”

“I will be sure to inform you if I see anyone fitting such a specific description. An apology from such a man would surely not go unheeded.”

“I have been an unmitigated ass,” said Jehan, contemplating the sunlight glancing off of Combeferre’s glasses. “The man, whom I much admire, confessed a depth of feeling I was not expecting to receive, and my reaction was unconscionable.”

Combeferre found himself lost for words. He reached out blindly, and grasped Jehan’s forearm, mindful of the public space.

“Tut tut, Combeferre,” said Jehan, “Even you, having disdained education in law, should know that sodomy is not criminal in these enlightened times. I should hope your books have not kept you so enthralled that your knowledge of Patria has diminished.”

He contemplated this for a moment, then abruptly pulled Jehan into an alley, using the hand already on his arm as leverage. “Its legality is not in question, Jehan. My concern is for the less informed to decide we should come to harm for it. I would not see you hurt on my account.”

This declaration seemed to ignite some of the warrior’s spirit present within Jehan, who laughed, daring, and pushed Combeferre back against the wall in the gloom. “I should hope that you would be willing to risk a good deal in exchange for my lips on your skin. I have been told they are wondrous indeed.” By Combeferre himself, in one of his rare poetic moods.

“That will be quite possible, I should imagine. I do hope this mysterious, well limbed man is not the jealous type.” Combeferre leaned forward, until their lips were a hair’s breadth apart.

Jehan laughed, a sound Combeferre had once secretly compared to the heavenly chorus and not found lacking, and closed the distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> another prompt fill for that anon over on tumblr. i deviated from it a little, i hope this is still ok!! :)  
> (betaed once again by the lovely helena (fastinganddrunk))


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